


His Undeath

by Eloarei



Category: Hanna Is Not A Boy's Name
Genre: Gen, Light Angst, M/M, Sappy, speculative drama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-07
Updated: 2012-11-07
Packaged: 2017-11-18 04:48:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/557073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eloarei/pseuds/Eloarei
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yes, the redhead seemed like a walking fountain of youth, and just being in his presence made others feel younger or more alive. Sooner or later, it became apparent that this wasn't just a feeling.</p>
            </blockquote>





	His Undeath

He didn't have a very clear memory of his un-death. All he knew was that one day he was conscious, and some time before that he'd been dead and, before _that_ , alive. He spent quite a while thinking about life and death, what it all meant and what it all mattered. Then without knowing quite how or why, he found himself following a business card to the dingy door of a dingy apartment, inhabited by a bright young man with a misleading first name. He began to cohabitate with this bubbly 'Hanna', and really, that's all there was to it, no questions asked. He didn't bother wondering about himself, as busy as he was wondering about the redheaded boy, and Hanna seemed happy enough not to pry. Supernatural nonsense aside, things were simple. 

When they'd first met, Hanna had mentioned something about resurrection, but he was used to being dead and hadn't exactly been holding his breath about returning to life. Besides, being a corpse was actually sort of convenient, if you could overlook his tendency to fall to pieces when handled too roughly. After all, corpses didn't need to eat or sleep; nor could they die, and in the dangerous field of paranormal investigation, this could be quite an advantage. 

All in all, he was relatively content with his non-life. The only thing that really would have made things better, he thought, would be if Hanna stopped putting himself into frustratingly life-threatening situations. It was clear though that the boy would never do that. Perhaps he thought himself invincible; often the people around him forgot that he was _not,_ what with the overflowing abundance of life that surrounded him. Yes, he seemed like a walking fountain of youth, and just being in his presence made others feel younger or more alive. 

Sooner or later, it became apparent that this wasn't just a _feeling_. 

“Good morning, Xerxes,” Hanna said through a yawn, as he dragged himself across the tiny apartment and towards the kitchen, where he expected to find his un-dead friend. It took him a moment to realize that the man in question was not there. Not cooking, not cleaning, not organizing, not _hiding in the cupboards_. Not there. 

Of course, all it took was a half-turn and a few steps to find him laying on the couch instead. His eyes were closed, and Hanna's first panicky thought was, _He's not_ dead _, is he?_ Followed by, _Of course he's dead, but please don't let him be_ gone _...!_ He took another step, hesitantly, as if afraid to wake him from sleep, when the man _did_ wake up. 

He blinked sleepily and made a soft groaning noise, then gave Hanna a disoriented look. “...What are you doing?” he asked blearily. 

Immediately, Hanna dropped to his knees to look his friend in the face. “Oh Rico, good, I'm so glad you're all right! I've never seen you sleep before, so I thought, well-” 

The un-dead man sat up and rubbed a hand through his hair. “I was sleeping?” 

Hanna shrugged. “It sure looked like it.” 

The man shook his head, trying to rid himself of the last vestiges of the fog of unconsciousness, and stood from the lumpy couch. “I'm sorry,” he said without looking at Hanna. “Let me make you some breakfast.” At the mention of food, the redhead excitedly began to make suggestions, and whatever had just happened was quickly put behind them. 

OoOoOoOoOoO

Another morning, another yawning 'hello', but this time Hanna found his companion exactly where he'd expected. 

“Good morning,” he replied, giving the ruffled boy a soft smile, then indicated the steaming plate on Hanna's place at the tiny dining table. “I made pancakes and sausage; I hope that's alright.” 

Hanna grinned and waved a hand at him. “Psh. Alright? Anything you make is always delicious!” He sat down and began to shovel whole pancakes into his mouth, while the other man turned to the sink and started to wash dishes. 

The silence was companionable and comfortable, as silences between them usually were, until the undead man was interrupted from towel-drying a plate by the most curious and uncomfortable sensation. He ignored it and went back to drying until it happened again, with a loud growling noise this time. 

“Geez, was that you?” Hanna asked, laughing at the exaggerated noise. “That was loud; you must be _starving_!” 

_Starving?_ the man thought. _As in 'hungry'?_

“There's still some left if you want it,” the redhead offered, generously pushing the plate towards the other side of the table. Though he wasn't sure it was necessarily a good idea, the man sat down in front of the plate of food and picked up the syrupy fork. _Hanna has already used this,_ he thought, as means of distracting himself from the food before him, but he found the statement to be unimportant and looked at the pancakes instead. Covered in maple and cut up in square-inch pieces, they certainly did look good. He'd made them, after all, and he knew he'd followed the instructions well enough for them to be at least edible. For the first time in memory, he stabbed a piece of soggy pancake and stuck it hesitantly into his mouth, waiting a moment before he bit down, pulled it slowly off the fork, and started to chew. 

Hanna watched him expectantly, waiting for a favorable response. After a few moments of thoughtful chewing, the man swallowed and looked at Hanna shyly. 

“Do you think... I could have the rest?”

A huge smile lit Hanna's face. “Hey, sure! You made it, take as much as you want!” He stuck his elbows on the table and leaned happily forward with his face in his hands, eager to witness his roommate's first meal. 

OoOoOoOoOoO

Hanna was no less than joyous about his friend's new-found ability to consume food. After all, eating was one of life's greater pleasures, and being able to share those pleasures made life, well, greater. He liked to express this sentiment rather frequently, and took it upon himself to insist that they eat out more often, and that every one of their acquaintances (or “friends”, as he liked to call them) be present at these events. This was why there was a crowd of seven-or-so people jammed into the last available booth at the local Chile's one pleasant evening. As routine as these outings had become, most of the participants were perfectly cheerful about it, with the notable exception of Conrad, who was always grouchy about 'going to dinner' in such crowded public places, and only conceded to show up because of Worth's promise to feed him later if he behaved. 

As it was, the vampire still managed to be relatively bitter about his continued inability to eat human-food, and spent a good few minutes glaring jealously at the green-skinned man's plate of bacony cheese-fries. It was when he looked up at the man himself he noticed that the green-skinned man was considerably less green-skinned than normal. He looked sort of pale, and even his eyes appeared less bright and glowy than usual. 

“Are you sick?” Conrad asked. “You don't look so good.” 

The man raised an eyebrow. “No? I feel fine.” 

There was an awkward silence between the two (or what might have been an awkward silence if the rest of the booth weren't bustling with excited chattering and the clinking of forks and plates) as Conrad considered asking the others for their opinion on the matter, but instead opted for dropping the matter and pestering Worth about how starving he was and _dammit are you ready to leave yet?!_

The undead man thought about his health a moment more, wondered if it were even possible for him to become ill (it hadn't happened yet), but was then distracted from further thought by Hanna's grabby fingers stealing a large portion of his half-eaten cheese fries. 

OoOoOoOoOoO

It was only a day or two after that most recent dinner when Hanna came home one evening from his part-time job to find his roommate curled up on the couch, looking positively miserable. 

“Whoa, Cordell, hey, are you okay?” He dropped his coat on the floor, slammed the door behind him and trotted over to the sagging sofa, worried for his friend's seemingly fragile health. 

“Nnnnggh,” the man groaned, not bothering to open his eyes. “I'm so... I've never felt this tired...” 

Hanna had never really had to take care of a sick person before but figured he'd seen enough movies to know more-or-less what to do in a situation like this, so he knelt down beside the couch and pressed the back of his hand to the other man's forehead. “Geez, you're on _fire_! What's up? You're usually so cold. Room-temp at best!” The man gave no reply more responsive than a soft groan and a feeble push of his head against Hanna's chill skin. 

Concern cast a shadow over Hanna's face, and he turned away to compose himself. _This is weird,_ he thought. _Something is definitely wrong here._ He summoned as much courage as he could find and looked his roommate in the face with a hopefully steady smile. “Hey, do you think you're, y'know, okay to walk for a few minutes?” 

Neither of them was sure if the undead man _was_ 'okay to walk', but Hanna had asked him, and so he struggled to comply. It took him a moment to sit upright, and another to be safely on his feet, but it wasn't _too_ long before they were out the door and hobbling down the rickety stairs. Hanna did his best as a proper support, but their pretty drastic differences in size and weight made it difficult for the both of them. 

What would have been a ten-minute walk under normal circumstances managed to take them almost half an hour, but they were still holding up admirably well when they arrived at Doc Worth's door. 

He looked up at them from his desk, rolled his eyes, and pushed himself tiredly to his feet. “Shouldn' it be th' other way around?” he joked, smirking slightly. 

Hanna grinned at him sheepishly. “Sorry to bug you. I, uh, just couldn't think of what else to do.”

Worth waved a hand at the redhead. “Nah, don't worry 'bout it. Plans for the night got canceled anyway. Go 'head and put 'im down over there.” He wandered around his office collecting his tools as his patient wobbled across the room. 

The zombie was only half-conscious by the time Worth started to look him over. “How long's he been like this?” he asked Hanna. 

“Um, I dunno. He was like that when I came home from work, so, at least a hour?” He fidgeted anxiously, keeping his eyes on his roommate's pale face. 

Worth 'hmph'ed at Hanna's nervous posture. “Don't act so worried. 's not like he can die again,” he said, although he was starting to have his doubts. Like the others, he'd noticed how the man was becoming steadily more sickly looking, heard Hanna mention that he occasionally slept now, and seen him consume pretty normal food. And this fever now... 

The doctor crossed his arms and sighed. “I dunno, Hanna. Just looks plain ol' sick to me.”

“Well, _yeah_ ,” Hanna said, exasperated. “Can't you just do a check-up on him or something?” 

Worth shook his head, but brought out his stethoscope and thermometer and approached the sick man. “Not sure it's gonna mean anythin', but sure, if it'll stop yer twitchin'.” Before he could start to work, he was interrupted again by Hanna. 

“Hey, you don't think... he's finally turning into a _real_ zombie, do you? Y'know, like... one that eats... brains?” 

Doc shot him a pointedly disbelieving look. “Go sit down, little boy,” he told him. Hanna scratched at his head and went to find a seat across the room, leaving Worth to get back to his business. He scoffed and rolled his eyes at the kid's ridiculous ideas, not giving himself a moment to consider how terrifying the thought actually was. 

A few minutes passed, ticking away slowly, each one filling Hanna with a sense of dread, until Doc Worth mumbled something to himself and then motioned the mopey redhead over to him. “Alright, take him home and give 'im some of this when he wakes up.” He shoved a little bottle into the boy's hands. 

“What's this?” Hanna asked. “Zombie vitamins?” 

“ _Human_ vitamins,” he responded. “Just make sure he takes 'em. I don't want you draggin' any more corpses back here and askin' me t' fix 'em.” 

Hanna wrinkled his brow a bit but nodded, uncharacteristically serious, and turned to get an arm around his almost-conscious friend. “Hey, we're all set! Ready to go home?” he asked, confronting the man with his painfully fake optimism. 

“Ngghh...” the man replied, and the two began to struggle him off the examination table. 

Hanna was about to nudge open the door a few moments later, when it opened seemingly of its own accord and Conrad walked right in, nearly knocking them down in the process. “Oh, sorry,” he said, and held the door as the two of them hobbled out. He closed the door behind them and raised an eyebrow at Worth. “What's wrong with the zombie?” 

The doctor smirked and crossed his arms. “His body's havin' an identity crisis,” he replied simply. “So I take it yer hungry?” 

OoOoOoOoOoO 

_“Okay, smile!”  
“--'s not like that! I–”   
“--and what – you – to?!”  
“I can't believe it. You really–“   
“--This is it. – for what --”   
“-- you – don't have to –”   
“Please.” _  
“Please, please be okay.” 

He awoke when he felt the springy mattress shift on his right side and a small hand wrap itself in his. As he blinked the sleep from his eyes, he thought he saw a grimacing frown on Hanna's downturned face, but by the time he got a good look at the boy, the expression had turned to one of utter relief. 

“Oh, Gladius, you're awake. Good, oh God, I'm so glad. Are you feeling okay? Oh, right, Doc said you had to take these pills as soon as you woke up. I mean, they're vitamins, actually, and not zombie ones, just normal ones. What did I do with them? Ah, uh, I was just so worried.” 

Hanna's fingers twitched within the sleepy grasp of his own, and when the redhead went to remove his hand, presumably in order to find those all-important pills he spoke of, his bedridden roommate tightened his grip just a moment before letting him go. “Thank you,” he said, squeezing those thin callused digits. “For looking after me.” 

Hanna turned his head away, but was clearly blushing. “Heh. Yeah, n-no problem. Of course.” He extracted himself from his friend's line of vision and wandered off into the kitchen area, leaving the other man to melt back into the mattress beneath him, and try to remember the scattered images that had plagued his mind before he awoke. 

It was only a minute before Hanna returned and knelt beside the bed, looking preoccupied. The two of them sat in silence for a while, both caught up in their own thoughts, before Hanna ventured a soft sentence. “What... were you dreaming?” He was given a questioning look but no answer. “You... you were talking in your sleep, so I just wondered...” 

It was awkward, his roommate thought. This whole situation, something about it. Hanna's overly soft mannerisms, those vestiges of what must have been memory, and his worrisome deteriorating physical condition... Awkward. Their whole comfortable existence had become an awkward mess. He felt so apprehensive about everything, so much more than he could recall feeling about anything before. None of it made any sense. 

“I'm sorry. I don't really know.” He averted his eyes. Awkward. “I'm sorry.” 

“Hey, don't be sorry,” Hanna said. His honesty was intense, and the tone of his voice showed just how worried he really was. “It's not a big deal. I just wanted to make sure you're doing okay.” 

The man nodded as much as he could from his current position. “I'm feeling better, I think. A little tired still,” he said, although they both knew it was something of an understatement. He struggled himself into a sitting position and held a hand out for the water and pills Hanna had brought him. Hanna held his gaze as he swallowed them down, somewhat like a patient nurse or mother hen, something he may have learned from the man himself. 

The awkwardness still hung like a mist in the air. Hanna watched his roommate, overactive imagination spinning a mile a minute with the thoughts and worries that had wormed into his mind while the man slept fitfully. The man likewise stared at Hanna, wondering where they were supposed to fit into each-other's lives and where those awkward flitting dream-scenes would come to rest in what had become of their unified new life. Because unified it _was_. He couldn't even come close to calling it his own life when, without Hanna, he'd be lost and alone. Even if he regained his decades-old memories ( _It's happening, isn't it?_ ) was there really any way he could leave the vibrant, energetic creature who'd so readily accepted him? 

Wispy half-memories invaded his thoughts, and for a moment he forgot himself. He felt like Alice, tumbled straight into some strange wonderland. This world was odd and exciting, and terrifying, but he didn't belong here, and he couldn't leave. Still, the half-memories said, 'It's time to head back, Alice.'

But then the spell was broken, by the touch of Hanna's light fingertips upon his arm. He blinked, and the dream-scenes retreated to the far corners of his memory, leaving him again in the real world, to deal once more with the matters at hand instead of a mystery ages old. 

He dropped his gaze, not to the boy's face but to his bony hand. It sat softly over a bare, light forearm... For a few moments he stared, recognition eluding him. 

“I'm really happy for you,” Hanna said, lifting his head but not looking him in the eyes. “I think. But I don't know. I keep feeling like something bad is going to happen.” He squeezed the arm beneath his fingers, and a tiny jolt of understanding struck his dazed friend. “The whole time you were sleeping, I kept thinking about a conversation I had with Worth right after I met you.” He laughed bitterly at the memory, perhaps ruefully, and dug his nails in just the slightest bit, making his roommate twitch. “He told me to stop bringing home strays because, y'know, they stick around for a while, but then they start missing their family,” he gave a one more desperate squeeze before he drew his hand away, and the man began to really see whose arm the boy had been holding, “...and they wander back home again.” 

Hanna brought his sight just below his friend's plain brown eyes. “And he said he was tired of trying to patch my heart back up.” 

The room was empty. There was no music, no white noise or rowdy neighbors to disguise this horrible silence and the soft, melancholy heartbreak that accompanied it. The wispy half-memories teased and taunted him, but he was tired of their sudden presence and wanted them gone. _Stop interfering,_ he thought at them. _You have nothing to do with Hanna, and not a thing to do with me. Just let us be._ They quietly persisted, tossing around irrelevant images, but he ignored them willfully and turned his attention to the softly heartbroken boy at his side. 

It seemed Hanna was already trying to shove his sorrows back into storage; he was never one to dwell for long. But if he'd been trying to hide his feelings, he'd done a poor job of it. Despite a host of annoying personal distractions, the man had noticed. Of course he'd noticed. Hanna came first. If he was regaining his memories, if his skin changed color, if his heart began to beat and his pulse quickened in his veins, if his whole identity, his sense of self, was altering itself before his very eyes, Hanna came first. 

“Please don't assume that I'm going to suddenly leave. This is my home too.”

_It's not,_ said the half-memories. 

“It's... not,” said Hanna. “Even strays have homes somewhere, right? And soon you're probably gonna remember where that is. And... and you're becoming a human again, so you don't have to stick around me anymore. You could go pick up where you left off on your old life. You _should._ Your family... probably misses you...”

_Family?_

_“Hahaha, why do you always--”_  
“--not much you can–“   
“--figure something out!”   
“Don't worry, things will --”   
“I love you.” 

_'Yes, family. Everyone has one. Even dead men have families.'_

“A family is what you make it,” the man responded, catching Hanna's eye before the redhead could look away again. “I think our other family members would be upset if I left so suddenly.” 

Hanna's lower lip trembled for a minute before his face cracked into an honest smile. “R-right. Yeah, and Connie would probably get into a ton of trouble without both of us to keep an eye on him. And Toni relies on your freakish height to rig the lights at the theater. Veser just needs someone to punch him in the face every once in a while. Heh.” His lip kept quivering, even through the grin. “I just don't think they'd survive without you.”

They laughed softly together for a few moments. The sound was relieved, but their hearts still felt some strain. The half-memories kept picking at the man's brain, demanding to be acknowledged, and he knew it was only a matter of time before he was forced to do so. Hanna knew this as well. People always said they'd stay, maybe they even meant it, but things happened. There was nothing you could do. You just had to appreciate each day as it came and went, hug people often, let them know you'd never forget them. And hope against hope that they could keep their promises. 

The once-dead man broke away first. “How long was I out?” he asked. “I should probably make some dinner or something, shouldn't I?” 

“Breakfast, actually,” Hanna replied. “And, no. You should stay in bed for now! I'll make breakfast today!” 

It was difficult for the man to suppress a semi-violent knee-jerk reaction to that suggestion, but he did so for the sake of Hanna's ego. He forced himself to lay back down and let the young man try his luck at using the kitchen stove. 

Hanna's back was turned and he was almost out of the room, when his friend had a thought and called out to him. The redhead half-turned back, curious. 

“Did you really ask Worth if I was going to eat your brains?” he asked with a wry smile. 

The color of Hanna's face quickly darkened to match his hair. “What? No, I never–. Psh, no way, why would you–?” He laughed nervously and scrubbed at an invisible spot on his forehead. “Oh, uh, gee, I'm _starving_. I better get to work on that breakfast! I'll call you when it's done, 'kay?” And with that, he was effectively vanished. 

The man smiled at Hanna's antics and laid his arm up over his face. ' _It's not_ the others _who wouldn't survive without_ me,' he thought. ' _Maybe it's_ me _who wouldn't survive without_ you.'

**Author's Note:**

> I may or may not post a second part to this (I should, as I already have several pages of one written), but if I do I will probably post it as a companion story, as opposed to a second chapter. Thanks for reading!


End file.
